


Allow Me This

by BlueInHere



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Biblical References, False Memories, Flashbacks, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, How Do I Tag, I Tried, M/M, Mild Language, Protective Aziraphale, Protective Crowley, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-03-07 23:50:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueInHere/pseuds/BlueInHere
Summary: Aziraphale finds himself trapped within his own mind and stripped of something very important. If only he could remember what it was.





	1. Chapter 1

An unsettling atmosphere led Aziraphale to an old thoroughfare of London. He once knew this part of town in all its glory back in the industrial revolution days, now it was nothing more than a haven for crooks and graffiti artists.

He weaved around cluttered weathered buildings time had forgot. Nothing looked out of place, and yet, the further he walked the more the feeling of impending doom[1] loomed over him, until... he stopped, frozen. The hairs on his neck stood on end and a demonic presence pitched at his senses. Of course it was a demon, what else?

A woman’s scream rang out from an old factory to the right of him. He edged towards it and pushed passed the door.

“Mum!” a child’s cry snaked through the corridors inside. Aziraphale followed the ruckus and came upon what was once a production floor. 

“Leave him alone!” the woman shrieked from the far end of the room. She struggled against a large human-shaped creature tearing at her hair and another suchlike creature stood beside them, clutching a young boy’s arm. This was less than ideal; he didn’t expect to stumble upon a _pair_ of demons and not very well disguised ones either.

The skinnier of the two flashed Aziraphale a smile. “Told you it would work,” it croaked.

The woman seized the interruption to bite down hard on her captor’s hand and scramble from its grasp. 

“You bitch!” it screeched.

She darted towards the child. The other demon grinned, tossed the boy to the floor and sent out a sharp kick to the abdomen. The woman crashed to the ground, gasping for breath

“Mum? Mum!” the boy wailed. 

“It…it’s okay…Jeremy,” she panted.

Aziraphale stepped in. “That’s enough,” he demanded. The demons stood together and reclaimed their prizes with extra zeal. “Let them go.”

“And ruin our fun?” the larger demon smirked, wrenching the woman up by her neck.

Tears streamed down the woman’s face and desperate brown eyes stared at him. “Please,” she begged, squirming against the fingers around her throat. “Please, don’t let them hurt my boy!”

Aziraphale gathered his angelic energies, emitting them to the surface, moulding them into a ball ready to hurl into the demons. “I said let them go.” He had to be careful, they maybe lesser demons but he wasn’t a fool. He was outnumbered and unarmed, not to mention there were innocent humans in the mix. “You have me to play with now.”

The skinny demon laughed, skin stretch abnormally as its smile grew wider. Sharp teeth projected from its maw. “Why didn’t you say so?” it shoved the boy towards Aziraphale. The child hesitated, torn between rushing for his mother and running to safety.

Aziraphale took a step closer. “Jeremy?” he smiled at the child. “It’s okay. Why don’t you come and stand behind me?”

The boy glanced back at his mother, who nodded her consent. The child scurried behind Aziraphale. Little hands clung to his coat. 

“Please, just–ah!” the woman was cut off by the tightening hand around her neck.

Aziraphale was on the brink of his attack, he took another step forward, followed closely by the child. “I will not tell you again.”

“This one’s mine,” the larger demon sneered, fatally tugging on the woman’s throat.

“Idiot!” snarled the skinnier one, bearing its teeth at its comrade. “We’ve got what we came for!”

Aziraphale catapulted the ball of energy towards the demons. Divine light radiated from his core, filling the room. The demons hissed and gargled. The child tugged at his coat excitedly. 

The demon’s backed off to the far end of the room and Aziraphale reeled the light in. The woman’s eyes glued to him in pure horror.

“You might want to run along, my dear,” he said.

She inched towards him and snatched the child up in her arms. “What are you?” she muttered as she crept around him, guarding her son with all her being.

“He’s a superhero!” the child grinned.

Aziraphale didn’t have time for explanations. He put the matter of urgency into the woman’s thoughts, and not forgetting to touch both of their minds before she bolted out the building. They didn’t need to remember this.

The demons had regained most of their composure. The skinny creature pulled a twisted bladed weapon from its leather jacket. “Like to play rough, huh?” it jeered, staggering closer.

“You will do no more evil here,” Aziraphale said. His wings unfolded, stretching to their full length either side of him and he allowed the full force of his energy come to the surface. He hadn’t preformed a smiting in many, many years and he hoped he hadn’t lost his touch in all that time. 

The skinny demon spat and rushed forwards, its dagger outstretched. Aziraphale battered it aside with one flick of his wing. While the creature retained its balance, the larger demon jumped at him from behind. Aziraphale scuttled back narrowly missing its talons. 

The light faded, his energy dwindled. He couldn’t summon another burst quick enough and the demons knew. They laughed and skidded around him again like a pair of jackals encircling their prey. 

They didn’t waste a single opportunity. To make matters worse, he was sorely out of practice. One of the demons swiped at him with the blade. He moved backwards, but something heavy hit him between the shoulder blades and pounded him onto one knee. 

Blast! Their teamwork was something he had not seen the likes of from demons. Before he could even try to get to his feet he was battered over the head and his legs were swiped from under him. The floor was fast approaching but he didn’t feel its impact.

“Hurry. Get it ready,” one of the demons growled over him. “Good. Now we wait…” 

Then, everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1he believed that was the correct expression. The humans were awfully colourful with their idioms.[return to text]  
>  
> 
> Huh, so, I actually know where this one's going. It's a miracle! 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by and giving this a read. I really appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

A drop of water hit Aziraphale’s cheek. He opened his eyes to find himself standing under an overhanging tree surrounded by lush greenery. A black sky rumbled above. “What’s going on?” he muttered.

“You can’t leave a tree out in the open like that and say ‘do not touch’,” hissed the Serpent which curled around one of the branches. “I mean, what did _He_ expect?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sniffed. “Shouldn’t speculate really.” He ignored the odd sense of déjà vu, although such a thing should exist yet, should it? A deafening thunder clap vibrated the earth and with it the rain began hammering down on Eden. It had Aziraphale worried.

He watched the humans disappear into dense woods. Oh, he did hope they were going to be alright. He’d hate to think anything awful would happen to them, other than, of course, their banishment – come to think of it, he didn’t really know what could be worse. He was partly to fault for that. He wasn’t proud of it and no, he had no excuses either. It was frankly quite damning. Aziraphale clasped the hilt of his sword strapped by his side, it felt strange.

“Funny if we both got it wrong, eh?”

“Not really,” Aziraphale sighed and unsheathed the blade. Its flame roared and enveloped the metal. The snake shrunk back, hissing and baring fangs dripping with venom. They were both creatures of habit, shackled to their own nature. “I’m sorry,” said the angel, directing the blade towards the scaled beast. “I have a holy duty.”

“Just following orders, eh?” the Serpent said.

“As were you,” Aziraphale lifted the sword above the snake’s long neck. “You have tainted the Lord’s creation. I banish you from this world!” and with that Aziraphale brought the sword down, slicing the Serpent’s head clean off.


	3. Chapter 3

***

Aziraphale blinked. It was dark. No, pitch black. There wasn’t any light or sound. He stood in what he would describe as nothingness, a void. He felt weightless and his head was in a fog; it was almost like he was dreaming, but he knew better. This was no lucid dream. Something was amiss. Something was wrong.

_“Was there any remorse, Principality…”_ the voice echoed everywhere. It had no real direction or form.

He groped at his hip but the blade wasn’t there. “Who’s there?” he asked, wildly scanning the blackness.

_“…when you cut the beast down?”_

A creature emerged in front of him. A smooth dark scaled snake. The Serpent of Eden. It slithered forwards and rested before Aziraphale. “Come no further,” he said, his hand instinctively snapped back to his hip where the sword should've been.

_"Now,”_ its tongue flicked between scaled lips. _“Was that any way to treat an old friend?”_

“You are no friend of mine, Serpent.”

_“Are you certain?”_ it uncoiled itself and slid closer.

“Quite certain.” Aziraphale stood firm. In truth, no, he wasn’t certain, he was unsure of himself, but why? Why did he pity this Tempter? No. No, the Serpent was creeping into his mind, seeding doubt within his sense of certainty. “I know your tricks, demon,” he spat. “Your words of poison will not sway me.”

_“Yet, you are still searching for a name.”_

What was it on about? A name? A name for what? “Enough!” 

_“A name to match.”_ The Serpent closed the distance between them.

Aziraphale took one step back, the snake followed.

_“An old name, a familiar name.”_

He took another step back. “Stop this.”

_“Ah, but you’re half-way there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.”_

“Crawly.” The word slipped from his tongue, but no conscious thought accompanied it. It was the right name but it didn’t quite fit. It was like trying to slot a cube into a two-dimensional square – same shape, different perspective.

The Serpent stopped its advance. It looked...disappointed? _“I don’t like that name,”_ it said. The echo behind its voice diminished, it developed more of a tone, more form. _“I think I might change it.”_

“Change it?”

_“Hmm?”_

“You’re going to change your name?”

The snake’s golden eyes flickered as it turned its head. _“Ah, but that would be telling…”_ The thing was almost smiling before it vanished _,_ leaving Aziraphale in the silence.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Years rolled by.

Earth was becoming a dark place to dwell. Aziraphale longed for the garden and the safety it held. Alas, his eyes would never set on the likes of it again.

He stood witness to Cain’s atrocity; Seth’s devoted faith and Enoch’s ascend into Heaven.[1] All the while God’s wrath grew more and more relentless towards His creation and their failings.

-

The year of the flood was upon them. ‘To cleanse the world of sin,’ they said. Aziraphale hummed at the sloppy explanation they provided. Far be it from him to question the Lord’s plan, but he wasn’t so sure about this. Oh, he couldn’t think along the lines of blasphemy, it wasn’t in his design. He was an angel, after all and he, like all of his brothers and sisters were but humble servants. _Nevertheless,_ deep within his corporal bones, he disapproved. He disapproved strongly.

The rain hadn’t ceased in weeks and the waters swallowed nearly everything. Aziraphale kept an eye on the ark. It was going to be put to the test very soon. It was obvious that Noah was aware of this, given that he had summoned his family inside and barricaded the entrance. 

The first huge wave rushed down the valley backing tremendous force. It flattened everything in its path, ripping trees from their roots and levelling entire cities. The waters foamed, hungry for its next meal. It roared onwards and met the ark with hellish wrath. It smashed the ark from its scaffolding and it too, succumbed to the flood.

Aziraphale hovered above, waiting for a miracle that wasn't going to come. This had taken a very different turn. Was it for all for nothing? False hope, given to a world already rejected by its own creator? Hope truly was lost.

But then, the water bubbled, a dark shape moved beneath the waves and the remarkable wooden structure propelled itself upwards and lunged to the surface, creating a wave of its own. He hardly believed it. It was incredible.

Days passed, the ark went on, the rain continued, Noah awaited instructions and Aziraphale sat upon a rock, once a mountain peak, brooding over the endless mass of ocean.

All this destruction, what was the point of it all? He sighed, splaying his wings out and glanced down beside him. What did he expect to find there, just under his wing? A small creature to shield from the rain? He scoffed at the very idea. No, he was entirely alone.

Aziraphale pulled his wings in and stood up. Heaven will want him to return, to sit it out, as it were. 

-

The cities of the plain burned. Smoke and ash billowed into the sky reaching for Heaven. The foul smell of sulphur clogged the lungs. This was a demonstration, a warning, justifiable punishment for the sins of the city.

Aziraphale had no one to challenge for the cities’ fall. There should have been. A nearby demon surely had a hand in it. Something had to be the root cause to bring down the unbiased fury of God, but he found nothing. His search ended in a small tavern with the faint smell of nutmeg.

He turned his back upon the roaring fires, the screams of hopelessness and walked to the gates. A man with two children clinging to his sides threw himself down before him. “Please, you must save us!” he begged and seized a handful of Aziraphale’s robe.

The angel looked down upon the family. The grubby little children stared up with bright eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said and pulled away from the man’s grasp.

“No, you can’t do this! We’ve done nothing wrong!” the man screamed.

Tears stung Aziraphale’s eyes. Not a soul could be saved for they had all been condemned by the Lord, but why must it be so cruel?

He stopped and glanced back at the family huddling together while flames closed in on either side of them.

“Look, I can’t protect you,” Aziraphale said. The man looked up with so much despair. “But your children can be saved.”

The man smiled, he helped the children to their feet. “You would do that for us?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Go with the angel,” the father nudged the children towards him. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Aziraphale opened his hands and the children grasped them.

“Thank you,” the father smiled.

Aziraphale didn’t have the heart to smile back. He took one long look before turning away and leading the children out of the city.

The father had sacrificed himself for his family and _thanked_ him for it. Was that not worthy of salvation?

The fires didn’t die until all five cities were nothing but a pile of blackened ash. The father was never seen again

-

Egypt fascinated him. He watched the creation of the Great Pyramid of Gaiza. [2] The name didn’t do it justice. It wasn’t just great, it was an exceptional fortress, built solely for their dead Pharaoh. It towered over the land, gleamed in the high sun, white and gold. A mark of the Egyptian’s pride and intellect

The humans surprised Aziraphale now and again. For all their faults they had something he admired. He chuckled; someone was going to tease him for that. He hadn’t a clue as to who though. Gabriel, perhaps? Aziraphale shrugged, he was letting time slip from him and he had other matters to attend.

Years later, he heard tales of Moses and the cruelty ravaging Egypt, but he didn’t return to the country to have a look. He left the matter in hands far greater than his own.

-

The word of God spread like wildfire. People from all over came to hear the teachings and watch miracles unfold before their eyes.

Aziraphale stayed close by, as a protector of sorts. Demons, of course, flocked to the commotion and he thwarted each and every one. None of the demons were what Aziraphale expected, though to be truthful to himself, he didn’t actually know what he was supposed to be expecting in the first place and it made the chain of this thought process completely void and…the familiar pressure behind his eyes stopped him chasing his tail. He had been stressed lately. Keeping a watch for almost everything would do that, even to an angel. He was just so worried for the Messiah.

Four years later and his worries came true. They lost the only person that could’ve made a difference. _Why? This didn’t need to happen._ His fellow angels encouraged him, but, ‘it is the prophecy’ and ‘ineffability’ were hardly what he’d call inspiring.

After all was said and done, Aziraphale was empty, like part of him had died. He wished for someone to console with, someone on his level, but he was alone with the company of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Aziraphale was fond of Enoch, but honestly, when he took the title of Metatron he become as conceited as Gabriel.[return to text]
> 
> 2And possibly had a hand in the construction, although he never meant to get involved…no, really, he didn’t. What do you take him for?[return to text]
> 
> \--
> 
> Heads up: from now on the story is going to jump around a bit and please excuse my limited knowledge on ancient world history. I did some research but if something is out of place, please pick me up on it.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

*** 

Images fade and Aziraphale stood in the void once again.

 _“Such a shame…”_ the snide voice echoed.

“Show yourself.”

A low laugh bounced from all angles sending Aziraphale’s sense of direction spiralling.

Then the Serpent appeared. It snaked forwards, morphed taller, grew limbs and finished its approach on two legs. _“…That you remember so little.”_

The figure was a human shaped silhouette. It was distorted and shifted uneasily. Its face was shrouded with absent details. Aziraphale much preferred its previous appearance.

“Where am I?” Aziraphale demanded “What is this place?”

_“Where you have always been…”_

“Meaning?” The figure glanced away and fazed in and out of sight. “No. What is that supposed to mean? Answer me!” Aziraphale reached for it and his fingers closed around thin air.

 _“…Trapped in the walls of your mind…”_ the figure said in a distant whisper.

The darkness slipped away and his frustration vanished along with it.

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, to anyone following this story and wondering what the heck I've just done, I've moved some scenes into their own chapters. 
> 
> Initially I wrote this without using chapters, so I didn't really think about the format. Now, looking back at it, I think it reads better like this. It just means there's going to be a lot of small bitesize chapters.
> 
> Please let me know what you think.
> 
> New chapter will be up today very soon!

Time moved on. The fall of an empire gave rise to a new world. The humans progressed as expected with new cruel ways to hurt each other.

Having no other purpose other than his Holy Duty, Aziraphale wandered aimlessly through the years and as those years went on, a longing, a yearning he couldn’t describe, grew within his heart.

He had so many questions, unfortunately Heaven was far too disconnected to understand and the humans could hardly relate to a celestial being.

-

The Byzantine Empire was a force to be reckoned with. Aziraphale sat around a camp fire, aching from battle. The warmth nibbled at frozen extremities as the flickering flames captured his mind. The year was 1020 AD and it had been niggling at him for months. _What was the significance of it?_

Every night for the passed few months he felt like something important should be discussed. The wars were first and foremost on his mind. Could he strike up an arrangement with the opposing side? Aziraphale shook his head, wars were seldom won by words and he was yet to see a battle that didn’t shed blood.

No, that would never do. More was to come and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

-

The crusades came and went. He moved across the globe stumbling into tragedy after tragedy until he landed on an island. He resided in a town in this small country he quite happily called home.

A plague swept across Europe. The humans called it the Black Death, it was morbid but perfectly apt.

A local priest turned his church into a sanctuary for the ill. Aziraphale hovered nearby, watching. Everyone was afraid of the illness that they abandoned their dead and dying, but this priest welcomed the diseased with open arms and provided nothing more than a kind word, a bed, food and warmth. It piqued Aziraphale’s interest. He offered his help and the priest gladly accepted.

One day, he came to Aziraphale downhearted. “Why have we been forsaken?” he asked, tears glistened in his eyes

Aziraphale gazed at the priest in a moment’s silence. “You haven’t,” he said. “You must keep faith.” 

“It all seems hopeless,” the priest shook his head. “All I can do is keep them comfortable.”

Aziraphale laid his hand upon his shoulder and released a comforting aura. “That’s all they need, Father.”

The priest smiled and nodded. He died soon after.

Aziraphale did what he could, however there was only a certain amount of miracles he could perform before someone Upstairs took notice. As a result, he had to let the epidemic take its course. He kept the church a salvation for those succumbed and continued the priest’s work.

It was just another dark moment soon to become history.

-

Aziraphale couldn’t tell you why he smiled when the clocks struck twelve and the calendar year turned to 1400. He was glad to bring the new century in with the locals and he knew in his gut that things were going top get better from here on out.


	7. Chapter 7

***

 Aziraphale stared out into empty space. “Why are you doing this?” he asked the dark.

 _“I’m not.”_ The figure blinked into existence. It still held a ghostly incarnation.

“Please,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not in the mood for your games. Who are you?”

_“I’m a fragment of your subconscious.”_

“Here to ridicule me no doubt?”

_“I’m a reminder.”_

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re not giving me a lot of information. A reminded for what? To buy more milk?”

The figure chuckled, which frankly he hoped it would never do again. If he were to imagine what a nightmare was, that was it, right there. _“A reminder,”_ it added, _“of something you forgot.”_

He should’ve seen that one coming. “So milk,” he snapped, crossing his arms. The figure didn’t retort. “What have I supposedly forgotten?” There was a pause, a soft exhale and the figure turned its back without so much as a by your leave. “Wait!”

 _“Hmm?”_ the figure glared at him from over its shoulder. _  
_

“Just tell me one thing,” Aziraphale said. “These images, all these years. I’ve lived them before, haven’t I?” Turning to face him, the figure cocked its head to the side; he guessed he was supposed to take the gesture as a yes. “They’re memories. I’m right, am I not?”

_“If you believe so.”_

“There's something odd about them. Is there something in them that I’m missing, is that what you're trying to tell me?”

The figure shrugged, it was a very natural, very human movement. _“These memories are yours and yours alone,”_ it said and turned away again.

“Who are you?” he took a step forward. “I mean...what’s your name?”

_“You already know my name…”_

The figure left and images reappeared, dancing in front of his vision.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale shielded his face from the heat as he kicked open the door. A family quivered inside, too afraid to move. He miracled a path through the wall of flames and waved to them. “Quickly now!” he yelled over the roar. One by one the family ran into the street. “Get to the city gates!”

Smoke blotted the sky black. Fires ravaged London, too ferocious now for buckets of water and even Aziraphale couldn’t calm the flames. The inferno gorged itself on timbre and thatching, the old church he had kept running had long since yielded. He took to the streets, running from door to door, herding the panicked town folk to safety. Many people clambered to the Thames, Aziraphale directed most to the fields outside of the city. 

In the end, exhausted and weary, he also ran for the gates. He had done all he could, but it wasn’t enough. He rested away from the heat, atop a field crowded with dispossessed people, and watched uselessly as another city burnt.

Despite his grief, he chuckled. There was something humorous about the date. 

These good people had lost everything. The smirk disappeared off his face. There was absolutely nothing to smile about. A great fire of London had killed God-knows how many and some twisted side of him was _amused_ by the date of the year? He should be ashamed. 

_Admit it. It is kind of ironic…_

“No, it most cert-” Aziraphale looked up. He was alone. No one had come close enough to talk to him. He shook his head as the glow of London flared in the distance.

-

Politics was the work of evil. He had been assigned to watch over the madness in France. The instructions were explicit: “I said observe, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said pointing a finger in his direction. “Have you got that? Do not interfere.” 

Well, Gabriel could bark orders as much as he liked. Heaven wouldn’t notice if he held a helping hand to a few people in need. 

Oh, but when he arrived he changed his mind. There was no helping this. He tried, believe him, he tried. Mobs ran amok and blood had already been spilt. He might be an angel but there was only so much one man could do - well, one man-shaped entity anyway. 

He traipsed through the streets without a destination and surprised himself when he entered a quaint little restaurant on the corner. Why? He couldn’t tell you. It would be rude to turn on his heel and leave, so he ordered himself some lunch.

He was seated on a table for two and was swiftly served. He ate quietly with a glass of red wine which: ‘complemented his meal’ as the waiter put it.[1] When he finished, (leaving behind a plate so clean you wouldn't believe it had been used) he paid in full with a generous tip and left.

_I owe you one from, when was it…_

The waiter gasped and shout his thanks through the door.

-

Out of all the centuries he’s lived through, the Victorian era was by far Aziraphale’s favourite. There was so much haste, so much to do. Great minds flourished. New ground was broken, new inventions made and new sciences discovered.

In later years Aziraphale became quite fond of Wilde, and went out of his way to purchase every first edition he could lay his hands on. He was lucky enough to meet the author for a round a drinks and chatter over a good meal once…twice…make that thrice. It was nice to have someone you generally admired. Oscar was a breath of fresh air and their friendship filled his heart with glee. Aziraphale no longer pined over something he couldn’t put words to. 

He learnt the Gavotte. A splendid little dance, he became quite good at, if he did say so himself. He also met the renowned Maskelyne who taught him a bit of sleight-of-hand without the need of his angelic magic.

Yes, Aziraphale was enjoying the century immensely. As of now, he strolled down the street with a bottle of wine in hand and a book tucked under his arm. The lamplighters were already busy lighting the streets. 

Why anyone wanted to sleep away the years, was beyond him…

A large bold question mark hurtled into Aziraphale’s mind. What an odd thought. Who was he referring to? For that matter, who on Earth slept through a lifetime? Nobody he knew.[2] Something lingered on the edge of his mind, a very faint speck, just out of reach. He chased it, but it slipped further away and disappeared over the horizon. _Drat!_

Aziraphale sighed. No matter. He turned his mind on his evening plans, he couldn’t wait to discuss Oscar’s recent manuscript with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1You couldn’t fault the French for their cuisine, he’ll give them that at the very least.[return to text]
> 
> 2Heaven didn’t _sleep_ through current events, they just _ignored_ them, and humans lived such short lives that Aziraphale was sorry they had to sleep at all.[return to text]


	9. Chapter 9

*** 

Aziraphale lay on what he presumed was the floor, curled up on his side and stared into the abyss. The darkness was a perfect epitome of his loneliness.

_“Sulking now?”_ said the figure, but its voice had changed. It was no longer disembodied or distant. It had character, it had _attitude._

Aziraphale sat upright and glanced at the figure. He was disappointed to see it was still obscure, still wrong.

_“You’re not helping yourself, you know.”_

Aziraphale drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. “Go away.”

_“You’re getting closer.”_

He sighed. “I get it. I’ve lost something incredibly important. Fine. Now, why don’t you stop tormenting me?”

_“You’re not trying hard enough, that’s why,”_ the figure sat beside him. _“Let’s play a game. I spy with my eye, something beginning with C.”_

Okay, the figure had developed too much attitude for his liking. It was far more agreeable when it was aloof.

“Tell me,” Aziraphale lifted his head just enough to peer at the crossed-legged shadow. “Why are you - the Serpent of Eden - creator of original sin–”

_“Thank you.”_

“–Of all things, the embodiment of my subconscious?”

The figure shrugged. _“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so lost.”_

Aziraphale grunted and stood up. “Crawly, if you’re going to speak in riddles, you might as well leave.”

The figure clicked its tongue. _“I told you, I don’t like that name…”_

***


	10. Chapter 10

Bombs whistled overhead, the ground rumbled under boots and commands were barked in all directions. The war to end all wars – that’s what they called it and they could be right. This was nothing like any previous battle Aziraphale had seen.

He had been almost invisible to his comrades but he preferred it that way, it allowed him to go about his business without suspicion. He spent most of his time down in a horrid trench, comforting the young men. _Young men._ Many of them were mere children, only just turned into their teen years. Such a waste. On the rare occasion when the bombs stopped, he trudged through no-mans-land healing the wounded on both sides.

A year had passed with no sign of a ceasefire. Aziraphale collared a few of demons that came to feast upon the bloodbath, whispering vindictive words into the men’s ears, stoking the fear and anger.

One day, Aziraphale snagged one wearing British uniform. He seized its lapels and dragged it somewhere quiet. The thing laughed at him. He thrust it into the wall and began a smiting. The demon squirmed as its skin sizzled beneath his glowing hands .

“Go back to Hell and never come back,” Aziraphale snarled, pouring divinity into the imp’s corporal body.

“You haven’t seen the last of us!” it growled. "See ya around!" It burst into ash.

Aziraphale took a deep breath of charred air. He had thwarted these fiends without breaking a sweat, they were hardly an opposition. Hell had been perfunctory of late and he didn’t know if he should take that as a good sign or an extremely disturbing one.

Four years later the war ended. Aziraphale didn’t join in on the celebrations; he didn’t see any sense in it.

-

The economy crashed after the war and it wasn’t long before it came to a head.

The general strike began. Obviously, Aziraphale supported the miners but as an observer, of course. Hundreds of workers marched through Hyde Park, armed with banners and speeches.

He watched the commotion nearby. These poor folk scarcely had enough to feed their families, so when a gleaming automobile rumbled by, it nabbed his attention. The vehicle looked like it had only just rolled off the production line. It glistened, slick with fresh black paint and a spotless chrome badge boasted the Bentley name. Aziraphale scoffed. Such avarice at this time made him sick to his stomach.

_Isn’t she a beaut…_

“Really, have you no shame?” Aziraphale mumbled. He paused. And now he was hearing things. He shook his head, he really didn't have time to put his sanity to question. So, he turned his back on the infuriating lack of compassion which drove on by.

-

The twentieth century was filled with hardships. Don’t get him wrong, it was like any other century in human history, but for some reason this one had taken its toll. The later years shot around and brought with it bigger and fresher challenges.

Further to the difficulty of trying to grasp ever evolving technology and keeping up with society’s mad rush for progress, he was informed that the antichrist was born.

He couldn’t defy the ineffable plan. This is what it all came down to, this was the big battle they had planned for.

Earth’s natural balance was turned on its head in the matter of a few years. The four horsemen had ridden out and fulfilled their purpose. The seas boiled, rivers ran with blood, birds dropped dead, fish rained from the sky and nuclear warheads flew from their bases. It was all according to the Plan.

Aziraphale took his place alongside The Host. He stood shoulder to shoulder on precipice of oblivion, with the familiar weight of a flaming sword by his side.

Hell opened its gates and Michael gave them their signal. They flew towards the beasts which scurried onto the battlefield once called Earth.


	11. Chapter 11

***

Aziraphale awoke with a jolt and bolted to his feet. His only company was the buzz of silence.

That memory was false. He was positive. Earth wasn’t destroyed, the end never came. “We stopped it,” he mumbled and glowered into the void. “Serpent?”

Footsteps echoed all around him - faint tapping of shoes, louder and louder, advancing towards him until they came to a stop. _“You called?”_ the figure purred, materialising in front of him.

“That…that memory,” Aziraphale said. “It wasn’t real, it didn’t happen.”

_“Do you think so? Are you sure?”_

He dropped his eyes to the ground. No, was the answer to that. He wasn’t sure, never had been. He cleared his throat and looked back at the figure who watched him, intently. “Your name. Why is it so important?”

_“Finally,”_ the figure sighed. _“A coherent question.”_

“There’s nothing coherent about this place!” he snapped. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I've had enough of your riddles, Snake! I want answers. Plain. Simple. Answers.”

The figure smiled and it only made its appearance all the more horrifying. _“You’re trapped in your memories with a missing piece. A very consequential piece. Retrieve that and you may have a chance to get out of here.”_

Aziraphale huffed. “I know this already! I said no more riddles, did I not?”

The figure shrugged. _“Hey–”_

“No,” Aziraphale pointed at the figure. “I’m not going to let you run circles around me anymore.”

_“Look, Angel, I’m a sliver of your mind. I can’t tell you what you don’t know…”_

_Angel?_ There was only one person that called him that. “Wait, what…”

The figure evaporated into a mist and disappeared. He stood alone for a moment before he too felt himself shift from the darkness.

No. No, he wasn’t going to play this game any longer. He wasn’t a puppet to be toyed with. One way or another, this ended now.

Aziraphale tore through his memories. False or not, the correct sequence of events had to there somewhere, buried under all the baggage he carried. If the war never came and the apocalypse was averted then where was that memory? _Where?_ He needed to find it before…

***

-

…He stood in a park. A group of mallards had accumulated on the lake awaiting the clump of bread Aziraphale was tearing from a loaf…

 

He clung to the image of the void, the darkness, the taunting figure...but...but...why did he care so much?

 

…The lake was so vivid. The squawking ducks pulled his interest towards them. He frowned at an eager goose that started pecking at his fingers. There was something he had to do...

 

An evanescent voice resonated in the back of his mind, calling him, drawing him in.

 

...The goose had snatched the piece of bread from his grasp and paraded it around...

 

Aziraphale tried to latch onto the voice, isolate it.

 

...A squabble broke out between the birds over the tiny piece of brown bread....

 

_You were just enough of a bastard…_ _  
_

-

The honks of jealous birds ceased. The park vanished, and there it was, the correct memory.

The two of them, an agent from Heaven and an agent from Hell, standing on the brink of Armageddon, hand in hand, while the ground beneath them bubbled and cracked to make way for the Devil.

_You were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking…_

_-_

 ***

The blackness swooped back. The figure replaced the memory. It stood almost too close for comfort, staring at him. _“Well?”_ it said.

Everything came together in a flash. “Crowley?” Aziraphale gulped. 

_“At last,”_ the figure sighed. The veil that once covered its features lifted and details that were invisible to him before became so distinct. It was a shadow no longer, but a well-dressed, dark haired and yellow-eyed demon who slotted very neatly back into the gaps in his life.

All those years of loneliness and confusion melted away and for the first time in a very long time, he felt complete.

_“Took you long enough,”_ the figure said and patted him on the back. _“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”_

Aziraphale gaped at the face he could now put a name to. How could he forget most important part of his being? “Crowley?” He wanted nothing more than to cling onto the demon and never let him go.

_“Don’t act so surprised,”_ the figure – no – _Crowley_ smiled. _“Time to go.”_

He was physically shoved and his feet lost ground.

***


	12. Chapter 12

His shoulders ached, his wrists sore. He was sitting down. His arms were held up and his movement was constricted. Voices mumbled nearby.

He opened his eyes and blinked away the haze. Ah, now he remembered. The old factory, the demons, the fight; it all seemed like such a distant memory.

The concrete around him was covered in chalk symbols and runes, binding him to some sort of ward or curse. Off to the side, the two demons argued.

“Is he coming or what?” the larger one was saying.

Aziraphale examined the ties around his wrists which were strung up above his head. Plastic zip-ties. _Original._

“He’ll come,” the skinnier one replied.

“Why can’t we kill the angel? I’m bored.”

“We kill it now then we ain’t got no bargaining chip, you dolt,” the skinny one snapped, hitting the other over the head. “How are we gonna lure ‘im if we ain’t got no lure?”

Aziraphale didn’t like the sound of that. He tried wriggling his hand free but the ties were much too tight. One of the demon’s eyes flashed towards him. He shut his eyes and let his body go limp.

“The angel,” one of them said. Footsteps shifted closer. “It’s waking up.”

“What? How?”

The demon’s steps stopped. There was a rustle of clothing, creaking of leather and hot breath stroked Aziraphale’s cheek. His eyes flew open and he kicked out, ramming the demon off balance.

“Don’t just stand there!” the other demon said.

Aziraphale pulled on the ties, the plastic stretched, but before he could snap them, dull pain exploded at the back of his head, _again._ The room went dark once more. “Watch the ward, you fool! Bind it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kudos and comments! I really appreciate it!


	13. Chapter 13

***

“Ooo!” Aziraphale rubbed his head. Though, he understood he was no longer physical, the impulse remained.

 _“Back so soon?”_ Crowley’s voice surrounded him.

“Gosh, that hurt!”

_“Yeah. That goes with being hit on the head.”_

Aziraphale grumbled. He was so close to breaking out of this mess. When will he learn?

 _“Oh and…”_ Crowley said, holding a finger up and nodding. “ _Yep. They’ve bound you again. Great job there, Angel.”_

“Oh, leave me alone.”

_“You are alone. You always were…”_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is _tiny._ The next ones are a little longer, I promise.


	14. Chapter 14

A bloodied demon scrambled away from Aziraphale. A fire flickered behind golden eyes wide with…was that fear?

“Crowley,” Aziraphale growled. That wasn’t him, the voice was hard, unfeeling, it didn’t match his racing heart, his need to drop to his knees and pull the demon close.

“Back off!” Crowley hissed. A nasty gash across the demon’s chest oozed black gunge. An injury only something celestial could create.

Aziraphale's body moved without his consent. He stepped forward, fingers clutched at a sword, dripping with blood. It was drawn over the demon’s heart.

Panic seized the very fibre of his being. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. This was just another thing planted to keep him subdued, right? Oh Lord, he hoped he was right.

His eyes were pulled from Crowley to sweep over the surrounding skirmish. This wasn’t any battle, this was the final war. Heaven vs. Hell. Had he actually sought Crowley out on the battlefield? Then, it dawned on him, he _was_ going to end the demon’s existence.

“It’s over,” he said, the words were poison in his mouth. His arm pulled back making room for the finishing blow. Aziraphale fought for control. He wasn’t going to allow this. He will _not_ strike Crowley down. He will _not!_

-

Aziraphale was annoyed. His hands itched to throttle the demon in front of him. “There’s no compromising here,” Aziraphale said. “The Arrangement works. Leave it at that.”

“I’m not saying change the bleeding Arrangement,” the demon growled, crossing his arms. “All I’m asking for is a favour.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Why not?”

“We had decided this was purely business,” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s your problem, work it out yourself.”

“I should’ve known never to trust an angel,” Crowley sneered. 

“You seem to forget that we’re not friends, Crowley. We stand on different sides and that’s not going to change.”

The demon snorted. “Oh, I know very well where I stand.” Crowley turned his back and opened the bookshop door. “Don’t come running to me when you need help.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Crowley stormed out, making sure to slam the door behind him.

Aziraphale watched him march across the road spooking a passing horse. Guilt plucked at his heart. _I’m such a fool_. He didn’t want this, not really, not at all. But this was the best course of action. The fool was going to get them both in trouble, Aziraphale couldn't afford that. The demon had rounded the corner. _Bugger._ He stood from his desk and rushed out the door. “Crowley!" he yelled as he darted out of the way of a carriage. "Wait!”

The demon was just in his sights, but his long stride was difficult to keep up with. “What? Forgot to smite me?” Crowley spat.

“No, listen,” Aziraphale panted, jogging behind him. "For Heaven's sake, slow down." He grabbed for Crowley’s arm but his hand didn’t make contact.

The streets of medieval London faded away into its rightful place among distant memories.


	15. Chapter 15

***

“Crowley?” Aziraphale walked in the void of his mind, feeling very alone. “Crowley?”

He waited, breath heavy with emotion, despair knocking on his heart. An answer was evidently non-existent. He sat down and swallowed a whine.

 _“You didn’t help him,”_ the figure said. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. Crowley stood behind him, hands deep in his pockets. _“The fourteenth century will forever be ingrained in him because of you.”_

Aziraphale remembered that all too well. The next time he saw Crowley, he was exhausted and broken. “I didn’t know-”

_“You never really wanted him around.”_

“That’s not true.” Aziraphale got to his feet.

_“Course it is. He always pined for your company, but you didn’t pay attention. That hurts, you know? Every time.”_

Aziraphale wished the figure wouldn't travel down this road wearing _that_ face. It was getting a bit too much. “You are over-exaggerating.”

 _“Am I?”_ the figure cocked his head. _“He frequently outstayed his welcome. He doesn’t mean a thing to you.”_

The angel looked down at his hands. “You’re wrong.”

_“Does the statement: ‘I have work to be getting on with’, sound familiar?”_

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale sighed. “We both have a job to do. I’m sure he understands.”

 _“You shun him,”_ Crowley stepped closer.

“Now you’re being preposterous.”

_“He feels shunned.”_

“He’s a demon! He should be used to that by now.”

_“Ouch, Angel, ouch.”_

That smile it wore as it ripped him to shreds inflicted more pain than any real weapon could. “Enough of that. Why are you tormenting me?”

 _“Dunno. Maybe you should be asking yourself that? Oh, wait, you are,”_ the figure chuckled.

“Just leave me alone.”

_“I was never here in the first place…”_

Aziraphale shut his eyes and held his knuckles between his teeth. He took a deep breath and choked back the lump in his throat. When he opened his eyes again, a white near translucent wall towered above him. He glared at it before moving closer.

He pressed a hand on it. It was a solid brick wall and it shivered under his touch. Aziraphale hummed, pushed all his weight on it, but It didn’t budge. He launched angelic energies at it. Nothing. He hit, kicked and screamed at it. Futile. He turned away and slammed his back against the thing, letting his legs fold under him until he was back on the ground.

 _Oh, Crowley._ He hadn’t realised how much he needed him, how so alone he was without that demon. If only he could see him one last time. Apologies seemed insufficient for all the times he hurt him unintentional or not, and begging forgiveness would accomplish nothing other than amusing the demon. If only. Now it was too late and Crowley will never know how important he was.

The wall rumbled. He ignored it. It trembled, sending a shiver down his spine. He looked up at it. A small crack had appeared, a bright white light pushed through. Aziraphale hummed and stood up. He poked a manicured finger at the fracture, it creaked and crumbled away. He could _feel_ the restraints upon his mind weaken. He kicked the deteriorating barricade and with a loud pounding bang, the wall broke apart.

A physical pull thrust him backwards.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! Can't tell you how motivating they all are!


	16. Chapter 16

Aziraphale came to with a gasp. The factory was dark now and the demons lazed nearby. He wretched his wrists from the ties, instantly snapping the brittle plastic in one swift pull. He leapt to his feet and darted out from the encircling wards.  

“What the…” The creatures bolted from their positions, grabbing their weapons.

Aziraphale looked off to the side and found a weapon of his own - a broken window smashed from the outside left him plenty to choose from. He shifted towards it, keeping both demons in his sights.

"There's nowhere to go," one of them said.

Glass crunched under his shoes. With a brief glance at the floor, he snatched the biggest shard. Not the most menacing weapon, he’d admit, but even the most benign thing was lethal to a demon when blessed.

He closed his eyes and mouthed the words.

“Shit,” hissed the demons. A muddle of clumsy footsteps rushed towards him.

The rite was finished, the glass shard warmed in his palm. He summoned all his energy to the surface and upon opening his eyes, cast it forward. The ethereal glow pervaded every dark shadow and slammed the demons onto their behinds. Wet guttural growls bounced off the walls. 

Aziraphale moved closer and seized the skinnier demon, the leader it seemed, and pulled it to its feet. “You get one chance,” he snarled, the piece of glass glinted in its black eyes. “What were you plotting?”

It squirmed. Curling lips produced sharp teeth and it spat hot saliva into his face. “Fuck you.” 

Aziraphale clenched his jaw as he pushed the demon back and shunted it against a supporting pillar. “What are you doing here?”

The thing laughed. "Just you wait!"

The angel put a hand on its head and poured divinity into its core smothering its demonic presence. Its shrieking filled the building as it burned under the glow, red hot, until it fell limp with a gargle. He dropped the husk, spun around to the other demon. “I’ll give you the same chance,” he said.

The other scurried for its blade. “Bite me,” it growled, holding the weapon up in a shaken, feeble grasp.

He threw another bout of power and ran towards the dazzled demon. He caught its arm, twisted it, the blade clattered to the concrete. “Tell me what you were doing here!” Aziraphale ordered, pulling its arm behind its back, something popped and cracked; the demon yelped.  

“Orders,” the demon yelled.

“What orders?”

“You...you'll let me go, right?”

“What orders?!” He placed the shard of glass over its jugular, its skin hissed. 

“To lure Crawly!” it cried. “We had to trap him, drag him back. The Duke wanted words!”

“And tampering with my memories, taking Crowley away from me was part of these orders?”

The demon grinned; yellow teeth gleamed in the gloom. “We had to keep you subdued somehow,” it said. “Your reunion was going to be the best part! Imagine how much fun it was going to be.”

He hauled the demon up and threw it against the far wall. “Fools!” He flicked his wings out and soared towards the creature, retrieving it by the neck.

“Return whence you came,” he roared, tightening his grip around its oesophagus. The thing scratched at his fingers. “Warn this Duke, if anyone lays a finger on Crowley I will tear down the very gates of Hell to make them pay!” He pushed the glass edge into its throbbing neck. “Do you understand?!”

“Yes!” It yowled. “Yes! Mercy!”

“Granted,” Aziraphale growled. The glass ran smooth over its throat, slitting tissue, veins and arteries. The smell of scorched flesh assaulted his nostrils. 

The demon hit the floor with a crack. Oily vapour trailed from the gash and the skin rot around it.

He breathed slowly, dropped the piece of glass, drew in his wings. Brushing himself down, he stepped over the fast decaying corpse and left.

Outside, gloomy clouds blinded the sun. Aziraphale shielded his eyes from what little daylight trickled out from the overcast sky. He didn’t know how much time had passed and he didn’t care to find out. Crowley was probably getting worried and his bookshop…he should get back to it and swiftly.

He made his way onto the busy streets, wrapping his camelhair coat around him. He kept his head down and let his instinct guide him home.

~

Minutes passed, or it could've been hours, he couldn't tell you. He had completely lost the sense of time. He had drifted from one street to the next street, they all looked the same; grey, crowded, and dismal. 

Demon aura prickled at the back of his neck, but it was softer, not as jagged or as stifling as the recent encounter. It was familiar, it felt safe. Aziraphale pulled his eyes from the ground and stopped dead in his tracks. The person behind scooted around with a brash tut. He didn’t care, all his attention was turned to a figure who stood out from the crowd. _Crowley_. It was Crowley. Dark hair, shades, designer suit, and, of course, snakeskin shoes. Yes, it was him alright. The demon was just…well, just walking down the street without a care in the world.

“Aziraphale,” the demon called and gave him a little wave like nothing had happened. Aziraphale was frozen to the spot, processing the information in front of him. Was this real? Was it really him? His mind soaked in Crowley’s demeanour, the way he carried himself like an overconfident entrepreneur, his smugness and that smile. How he missed that sharp toothy grin. This was nothing like the figure in his mind. Aziraphale’s feet moved before he made a decision, he rushed through the crowd and ran hard at the demon.

“What’s– _oof!_ ”

His head ploughed into Crowley’s chest, almost tipping both of them over. His arms clamped around the demon’s lean frame in a somewhat uncomfortable embrace.

“What the _Hell?_ ” the demon gasped. The smooth honey tones of his voice vibrated in his chest against Aziraphale’s ear. Crowley shifted in his grasp and hands grabbed at his arms. “What’s gotten into you? Did someone desecrate a first edition or something?” 

“Just–” Aziraphale gulped. “Just allow me this.”

“Ookay,” Crowley hummed. “Awkward hugging in the middle of the street. This is definitely going to put a mark on my reputation, just so you know.”

Every conceivable detail was exactly as it should be, even down to the scent of Crowley’s cologne, the steady beat of his heart, but…but doubt weaved its way into Aziraphale’s consciousness. _It’s too good to be true._ He shut his eyes tight against the thought, but he knew. He knew the mind could play awful tricks.

His arms tightened around his demon. _No, this was real. This felt real._ He just needed something…something to tell him…a confirmation, of sorts. If this was just another deluded memory, if this disappeared like all the rest…what if he hadn’t escaped? What if he was still trapped, tormented by false truths? Tears formed under his eyelids and he began to pray.

“Getting a little hard to breathe now, Angel.” The hands were back, grasping at his arms. They tore at his fingers, loosening his clutch, a dreadful whimper betrayed inner thoughts. “What’s the matter with you?” the demon asked as he was prized off. The hands then landed on his shoulders and cruelly guided him back a step. Aziraphale was too afraid to open his eyes, too afraid to have his hopes dashed again. “Come on,” the demon said. “What’s going on?”

It was…it was still Crowley’s voice…he was still there? Aziraphale opened one eye and through vision blurred by unshed tears, Crowley’s golden eyes stared back over the rim of dark glasses. Aziraphale choked on a sob. 

The demon shook him slightly. “Aziraphale, for G–, S–, for _fuck’s_ sake, speak to me.” 

Aziraphale fought against the lump in the throat. “I…” but that was all he could manage before the tears overwhelmed him.

“Alright,” Crowley sighed.

A gentle hand upon Aziraphale’s back ushered him into the nearest pub and he was steered into a chair.

The touch left, leaving behind a cold spot. A wave of dread washed over him. Aziraphale twisted in the chair, searched the area, scanned every face, glided over the bustle at the bar. Crowley was nowhere to be seen. His breath was short, panic pressed down on his chest. This was it. This is when everything faded. He waited for the inevitable, but nothing happened.

Something was pushed into his hands. He snapped back to find the demon taking the seat opposite.

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked down at the wine glass filled with red and smiled back at Crowley.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

He dried his cheeks of tears. “I’m sorry, dear boy; I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

The demon hummed and took a swig of his own wine. “Okay, out with it.” 

Aziraphale gazed into the crimson depths. “This…well, that is to say…I suppose it all stared with…” he frowned and tried to put his predicament into words. “I was following a demon’s presence.”

“A demon’s presence?”

“Two, to be precise.” Aziraphale nodded. “They had a woman and child in their midst.”

“And you had to run in and save them, huh?”

“I have an obligation!”

“Jeez, Angel. I turn my back on you for one day and–”

Aziraphale stared at the demon, mouth agape. “A day?” he gasped. Centuries was more like it. He had relived the beginning of creation to its almost-end. “That’s how long it’s been?”

“Uh, yeah.” Crowley leaned in closer. “Aziraphale, we had lunch together just yesterday. What's going on?”

Aziraphale gave a half-hearted smile. “It was a trap of course.” He dropped his eyes down to stare at the sticky tabletop. “For all I know, this, here and now is just another figment of my imagination.”

“I don’t understand–”

“I forgot you!” he croaked, flicking a glance back at the demon. “The demons somehow ensnared me, trapped me in my memories and changed every scenario of my life.” 

“What?” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Where're these demons?”

Ignoring the demand, Aziraphale continued. His guilt consumed him more than Crowley’s fuming aura ever could. “I cut you down in Eden,” he said and resisted the urge to latch his fingers around the demon’s hands. “You were never…I spent millennia alone, taunted by…” he waved at Crowley and looked away, swiping at tears before they had a chance to fall. He hoped, prayed that this wasn’t all in his head, that Crowley did in fact sit opposite him, silently seething behind sunglasses. The demon meant everything to him, he just hadn't realised how much until it was all ripped from him. Now, Hell was after Crowley and he didn’t know what to do. Was Heaven in on this? Was this also to be his punishment? “They had orders,” Aziraphale continued. “It was a trap laid out for you, it seems. I was just the bait.”

“Bait?” Crowley spat. “Those bastards!”

Aziraphale chuckled through a snivel. “Language.”

“I’ll show them bait, where are they?” snarled Crowley, eyes flashing red behind the shades. The ironclad grip he had around the wine glass stem was awfully close to snapping it in two. “Wait till I get my handss on them. I’ll tear their bloody gulletsss out!” He got to his feet, baring white fangs.

“That wont be necessary, dear. I’ve already dispatched them,” he replied and gestured for him to sit back down.

“You ssaid they had orderss,” Crowley hissed, placing both hands firmly on the table. “From whom?”

“Don’t wor–”

“Aziraphale, tell me who!”

“A duke.”

“Hastur!” he slammed a fist down on the table, but no one around seemed to acknowledge the commotion. “I should’ve known! I should have bloody known!”

“Crowley, for goodness sake, sit down and calm down.”

Crowley grimaced and reluctantly sat down. “He’ll pay for this. He'll be around somewhere, lurking and when I find him-”

“Calm down. It’s alri–”

“No it’s not! It’s one thing to come after me; it’s another to go after _you_ to get to me.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Crowley,” his fingertips met the demon’s white knuckles. Neither of them broke the contact. “I always knew you had–”

“Don’t say it. Just don’t.”

Aziraphale sighed and smiled into his glass which he hadn’t even touched. “Listen, I’m just glad you’re here, just as you’ve always been.” He patted Crowley’s hand and pulled away.

Crowley shook his head and a moment of wired silence passed. The demon's brow was furrowed, his jaw clamped shut as he gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

Aziraphale swirled the wine in his glass. “I’ve developed an appetite all of a sudden.”

“And I’ve fully lost mine,” the demon replied. He drained the last of his wine and hunched over the empty glass. "I need to find that bastard," he grumbled. “Need a lift?”

“I think I’ll go back to the bookshop,” Aziraphale said standing up.

Crowley nodded. “The Bentley’s just around the corner.” He pointed to Aziraphale’s glass. “Are you drinking that?” The angel shook his head and Crowley snatched it up and knocked the wine back. “Come on.”

~

The drive back was tension fuelled and nerve provoking. Crowley’s grip was taut, secured around the steering wheel as he stared ahead grinding his teeth.

Aziraphale sighed softly. “Relax .”

“Relax?” the demon snapped. “How can I relax?”

“It could be worse. Look, you’re fine, I’m fine–”

“For now. This is Hastur we’re on about, that's what worries me. He won’t stop, Angel, not until he gets what he wants.” Crowley yanked the wheel and the Bentley screeched around a corner. "No. I need to find the bastard before - Move you idiot!"

"Careful!" Aziraphale clung to the dashboard. As much as his heart hammered in his ribcage due to the Crowley's outright dangerous driving, he secretly missed it. He didn't _like_ it but he did miss it. "There will be time for that."

"You don't know Hastur like I do."

“Well then, we’ll just have to stay close and work together, keeping a close eye on things and all that,” the angel smiled. "Don't worry. If he's here, we'll find him." 

Crowley blinked and gave him a side-long glance. Aziraphale shrugged and the silence sauntered back. The car slowed and returned to a speed that was much more comfortable, but he hadn't really noticed for he found himself staring, memorising the details, the sharp angular lines of the demon's face.

He cleared his throat and pulled his eyes to the road ahead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“Just…Look, Crowley,” he shuffled a little so he could directly address the demon. “I never want you to feel slighted by me.”

“What are you on about?”

"The arguments, the smiting, the hurt. I'm sorry. For all of it."

Crowley glared at him. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

"No." Aziraphale spread his hands. “I’m just acting on an impulse.”

Crowley hummed. The car slowed to a halt and before Aziraphale knew it they were parked outside the bookshop. It felt like years since he saw it last. He smiled and stepped out.

“You’ll be alright?” Crowley asked leaning out the car window.

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said and walked towards the door fumbling with the keys. He stopped and spun around. “Uh, Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“I have a bottle of vintage somewhere.” He gestured to the bookshop.

“Oh?” the demon grinned. “Is that temptation I hear?”

“Temptation isn’t exactly in my expertise, but, do you care to join me?”

“Ha!” The demon smacked the Bentley playfully. “However could I resist?” He placed his hand upon his chest like a parody actor. “You conniving little brute, you,” he mocked, mimicking the angel’s voice.

“You are not the least bit amusing,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Sure I am!” Crowley drifted out the car. “I’m the life of the party.”

Aziraphale turned his back. “Really,” he said and proceeded to open the bookshop door.

Crowley closely followed. “Yep,” he said, popping the p. “But you wouldn’t know a good time even if it plucked your wings bald.”

Aziraphale glared at him over his shoulder. “If you are all that you think, then prove it.”

“Oh?” Crowley grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I hate writing fight scenes.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by and reading this little thing. I hope you enjoyed it.


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